Power Bottom

Awww, I hate putting up a new post because I am so freakin in love with my Seething Cakes of Hatred Post from Tuesday. I know I should not love my own work so much, but I haven't been so proud of a post since I wrote about Charmed.

The plan was to post a wonderful audio blog that The Handsome Prince and I recorded last night from CC Slaughters. Somehow I messed up and didn't post the message correctly. It's lost forever.

Today I just need to clear something up. Contrary to popular belief, I was not in any way involved in the Malibu car crash that destroyed the Ferrari Enzo. I know it is hard to believe there was a crash and I wasn't part of it, but it's true. I may be the reigning Magnet of Tragedy, but somehow I skirted that particular incident.

I really need to buy a vehicle soon. I am dragging my feet on this because I can't take the pressure. I know in my heart that the car salesperson will have me for dinner, and there is just no way around it. The moment I set foot on the car lot I will become the bound and gagged bottom in the porno gang rape prison scene. After all, I am the guy who takes the magazine from the Jehovah's Witness on the street corner because I don't want to hurt their feelings. I'm the guy who holds the door for someone at the mall and then stands there for five minutes as 20 more people go through, apparently mistaking me for the doorman. When I go out to dinner, I can't even send a meal back to the kitchen because I don't want to be a bother. "No, it's okay, waiter, I'll just eat around the severed thumb. It'll be fine!"

My only hope is that the Asian Bodybuilder car salesman (why do you think I'm buying a Toyota) will want a repeat performance after he gets done taking me the first time. Hopefully he'll at least make me breakfast the next morning. (Pancakes!)